


'Suspension' of Disbelief (HAHAHA) Fuck Puns

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, I mean he hates sex, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mixed feelings, Nny needs a healthy outlet, Non-Consensual Bondage, Painting and Fucking, Psychological Torture, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Serial Killers, Starvation, Suspension, Vaginal Sex, but he wants it to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-23 22:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16167905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Summary: Nny kidnapped you because you didn't have time to put on a bra that morning and he had shifty eyes. You might have even called him out on staring - loudly - but that's the last thing you remember before coming to upside down, staring at a skinny serial killer, a roach and one plastic burger boy. If this doesn't end in murder, you'll be shocked...A/N: For Day 21 of Kinktober (suspension). I have been wanting to write some JTHM fanfiction for years and now I've done it. Time to scratch this off my bucket list... please see tags for warnings. <3





	'Suspension' of Disbelief (HAHAHA) Fuck Puns

“This is only going to hurt forever! Forever being subjective, since let’s be honest, you’re not going to last long with that frown. GAWD, MY STOMACH ITCHES!!! - It’s as if you’re not having any fun, dangling precariously by your feet like a pig in a slaughterhouse! ANKLES AMASSING BRUISES!! TOES WHITE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW!! Blood gathering in a pool at the top of your skull! So delightful.”

“... I’m smiling. It just looks like a frown from where you’re standing,” you slur, feeling numb from the waist up… or down, depending on the person observing, and the person observing is probably between five-eleven and six-three. It’s hard to tell for sure.

“Hmm…” Johnny - or Nny, as he introduced himself on the side of the highway before he promptly kidnapped you for… whatever it was - pauses, “... show me the other way!” 

You frown, looking happy from his perspective. You crane your neck - hear it pop - and watch as his grin stretches across his face like a Glasgow smile of uneven, white teeth. He’s positively wacky… but you won’t tell him that.

“Ah. Okay. Tricks of the eye. I knew you deserved to die… shifty little weasel with your WEASLEY EYES. Plus now that the congealed human refuse hidden behind the wall is out and about, I’ve got power of attorney. The problem with that is - you seeeeeee - I’ve run out of fishing hooks. The staples for the staple gun are in the shed and I’m pretty sure the rabid raccoon is still patrolling the house. Shifty. Frothing. Furry.” 

“It’s cool,” you smile-slash-frown, “I’m suuuuper high right now anyway. Death has no meaning anymore… I think this is what happens when you’ve been hung upside down for two days. Wait… what wall are you talking about?”

Nny taps the tip of a blood-dried knife against his chin and sticks his tongue out the corner of his mouth, pinching it between teeth so hard the flat thing goes red with blood. Blood… fuck the blood. You wish you didn’t have any blood right now. 

“How do you feel about having your skull tapped like a keg? WAIT. No. No. No. Don’t answer. I should just slit your throat, but, to be honest, I’ve done that two times today already and I’m bored of it. I don’t need the blood, but old habits die hard you see. Methods are unimportant now. OR ARE THEY!!!?? Thoughts?”

A cockroach skitters across the floor by his raptor-toed boots and without looking, he squishes it into a flat, citrine paste. It almost sounds like the roach screamed just milliseconds before it died. Hallucinations are ripe motherfuckers. Feeling another wave of euphoric nausea, you turn your eyes away from the insect smear and blink away dots of darkness, “I dunno… you tell me…”

“I asked you! Don’t CHANGE the SUBJECT!!” He screams, standing up like a sprung rat trap; knife bouncing in his long-fingered hand. Something about the shiny, elbow-length black latex gloves catches the broken bulbs juuuuust right. Fucking vices...

“Honestly,” you mutter as your mind wanders, “Let’s be real here… you’re not gonna kill me.” 

Nny raises a brow, opens one wide, white-circled eyeball and narrows the other into a tiny, minuscule slit, “… why do you say that?”

“I dunno… you’ve killed like, four… fifty-four? - other fuckers that have been here waaaaaay… not long enough as I have,” making words have started becoming a tad more difficult in the past several hours but you continue on regardless, “You like me. You’ve been staring at my tits for like… ever. Get over it.” 

“THE HUBRIS!!!” He bellows, near-screeching as the doughboys pinned to the wall grin; seemingly rattling with pleasure, “You’re BEAUTIFUL, good looks only stretch across the muscle and fat beneath. Inside, you’re as disgusting as I AM!! ALSO!!! - I have not! I would never! REVEREND MEAT WANTS YOU!!!!”

For a moment, he stands there hunched over the blade; eyes hovering on your black, fabric-covered tits as usual, before adding quietly, “Not me.”

A throaty, manic rattle that echoes around broken concrete walls and blistering wallpaper whispers something shitty at him - at you too. Nny clenches his jaw, grinds his teeth and waves the knife around the empty air; elbow shaking.

‘Don’t think, Nny. Just FUCK!! Sensation over desensitization. Think of the softness. THE FUCKING DOUGHY SOFTNESS!’

The tall, long and lanky edgelord raises his shoulders to his ears and shakes his head so hard the messy gelled hair-horns fall into a state of black greasy disarray. The black tendrils fall over his bloodshot eyes as he snarls, “She’s infected by the slug trail of human shit, that’s all!! I DON’T WANT THAT!!! It makes no sense!”

You sigh and twist your arms against the rope and the sweaty fabric against your sides. The first few days of listening to Nny were frightening, but being in a figurative hell hole has quickly desensitized you… not to mention that the pool of blood at the top of your head is doing wonders for your stress levels. 

“Also,” you interject, “... the longer I hang here… the more I’m starting to see your little… friend. You should listen to Meat Boy more, not in the rapey-ness way… but everyone’s gotta indulge once in a while. Is that why I’m here?”

Nny turns back to you, lunges forward on one heel and gets up real close to your swollen face, “I’ll show you who’s the boss around here! Reverend Meat!?” he gestures, “The hammer with the spiked tip - the one for window smashing!”

No hammer materializes for him, despite the way he crooks his long, gloved fingers as though waiting for someone to drop a nice thick weapon in his palm. You blink back the foggy hell and squint as something shifts. A shadow… like a mascot holding up a food-laden tray stains the back wall. Another roach crawls out a fissure in the floor; tickling ruddy brown stains in the messy concrete floor.

“Shit. He’s just a ghost or… demon… he has no working fingers…” you pause and twist your neck towards the skittering roach tapping antenna at dried blood stains, “Mr. Kafka: The Bug is cool, though.” 

“He…” Nny shivers with unbridled rage, eyeing the insect you’re staring at, “... taunts me.”

“HEY!” He snaps back up to his full height and you get an eye full of black jean crotch for a second before Nny is stomping merrily towards the wall decor of doughboys. 

“Does Mr. Fuck move?” he points to the one with the ‘Z?’ on its belly, “These shifty fucks tremble if I stare hard enough so I’ve nailed them to the walls… don’t think they’re being honest! Sorta. Honest. Like they’re waiting for me to forget about them.”

“Yeah…” you slur again and stare at the spiral-eyed styrofoam monster that glares at you like it’s got a face made of ever-changing paste. The sight of its puckered lips stretched around box-teeth is more than unsettling but at least it helps prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’ve gone fucking insane… as if seeing the Meat Boy moving on its own wasn’t proof enough.

“... so,” you continue, “since we’re both Abby Normal and all that, you wanna let me down so I can eat that hotdog. It ‘taunts’ me… and I’m… starving.”

“Nope,” Nny snaps, folding thin, wiry arms around an equally thin and wiry torso, hidden beneath a dirty leather jacket and striped undershirt, “That hot dog is there to remind you of the horrors you spoke of. The HORROR! The sticky… slimy… liquid pleasure. Guttural carnal desire! The filthy rotting tumble of limbs and writhing genitalia. Morbid skin brewed into a lather of risen blood and sweaty; primal urges. THAT HOTDOG,” he points sharply to the plate with the tasty looking, perspiring pink sausage, “IS YOUR PUNISHMENT!!!!”

“I thought the death thing was?” You reply sardonically.

“That too.”

You roll your eyes once he’s turned his back. He walks quickly down a hallway and takes a sharp left past a questioning ‘Z’ poster, sporting what you can only assume is a semi in his pants. All you did was tell him to get laid because he was looking at your boobs by the bus stop… and- fuck, why were you here again? 

The blood coma comes back and somewhere between remembering you left the ketchup out on the counter back home, and... where the fuck did the little dude with the burger go??

God, you’re so hungry you could eat Nny’s hotdog. You’d eat his dick if he presented it thusly. You’d swallow his cum. You’re not sure those are actual thoughts or nasty whispers in your ear but it doesn’t seem to matter because you dream of getting spoonfed jizz and a long pale dick until you next awaken to the same world you fell asleep in. This time there’s rope looped and cinched around your elbows, lifting you up like a lazy Jesus against the cold, dead wall. At least the blood isn’t pooling at the top of your brain anymore... 

‘I like you, female meat.’ Meat Boy says, standing on a table filled with dried out spaghetti-oh cans and switchblades. It’s holding up a plastic burger with vibrant yellow cheese. It’s not edible - the burger - but you swallow pouring saliva just the same as if it were.

“Great…” you mumble around a headache the size of a narwhal and start chewing your inner cheek until it bleeds. 

‘Nny needs some new outlets. Blood is great and all but feeding his urge for violence means it’s all he does. The brain trapped in his skull needs to sleep. His stomach needs food. The dick in his pants needs to EJACULATE!!’

“… that’s peachy…” you reply soundly; eyes gravitating back to the hotdog. The two doughboys on the wall rattle but don’t do much else thankfully because you’ve only got just enough brain cells to deal with the fact that Meat Boy exists. 

“You’re really fucking charming, you know that? No wonder, Johnny-Boy is gravitating towards tits. No wonder he’s got this… guilt mentality. You should just leave him alone. He’ll eat when he’s hungry and sleep when he’s tired and fuck when he’s horned up.”

‘No. No. HE WON’T!! I’m merely steering the skin sack, Nny, towards SWEET RELEASE! He resists soooo many urges. JIGGLE those TITS and provide the outlet. Your benefit is that he’ll let you down. He won’t let you leave. No. That’ll ruin the score, but once you’re down, you can eat that hotdog. He has more in the freezer.’

It’s hard to see anything in the room, besides what little the buzzing bare bulb discloses, but it’s more than enough to pierce your pounding brain and enough to expose Meat Boy as he quivers with anticipation. 

“I mean…” you whisper, half to yourself and close your eyes sourly, “the guy is kinda hot. If he hadn’t been so blatant about the eye fucking I might have been flattered. Also, the kidnapping thing is sorta teetering on sexy, if not annoying.”

‘Not ideal. He’s REPRESSED! Just play the temptress. Use your… womanly ways. He’s hard and you’re soft and I need him to sleep and eat. Better he expunges his body, sleep and stave off his inevitable decay for now.’

“Whatever…” you mumble, unable to argue at the present moment, besides, you’ve had a couple ‘fever dreams’ about Nny kidnapping you for other things aside from mental torture, and the idea of getting fucked up the ass doesn’t need as much convincing as Meat Boy thinks it does, “you bring me that fucking hotdog and I’ll suck out Satan’s Spine if you want.”

The plastic mascot shuffles like a penguin - smiles from chipped ear to ear and cackles. You watch Meat Boy pick up the hotdog as if he’s real. It turns to you, and grins with zipper teeth in neat rows of upturned glee, ‘A hotdog today for a cockdog tomorrow!’

Johnny blames Mr. Samsa for the missing hotdog in the morning.

The skinny serial killer spends fifteen minutes test cutting the peeling wallpaper, wondering to himself aloud if using the patterned paper as skin replacement is helpful, or if he should just cut you open to determine which knife is dull and which is sharp. You watch as he spreads out on the floor - thin, black-canvas covered legs spread out - using a scrub brush to itch the blades into razor-edged sharpness. You’re not sure if that’s how sharpening knives work, but if he’s wrong, you don’t wanna tell him what’s right.

“So you think I’m a slut, don’t you?” You ask instead. It’s a simple question, one that comes across as a little less bland now that your stomach isn’t trying to eat itself. A bit more personality is coming through thanks to added nutrients.

On the floor, without looking up, Nny replies with strings of lanky black hair covering his hooded eyes, “Anything that involves another person touching and sweating… using their nasty, filthy mouths on body parts is revolting. You’re revolting. Rotten.” 

“That’s some incel talking bullshit. Just cause you’ve got a problem with your sexuality doesn’t mean-”

‘Jiggle those fake fat tiddies!’

“SHUT UP!” You scream, forcing Nny to look upwards at you hanging there like a marionette, glaring daggers at Meat Boy on the table with shining, alive-looking eyes that dig and stab and haunt you like a fucking demon. Fuck… you’re starting to sweat. This place is getting to you. Meat Boy and his demands are getting to you and you’ve only been here several days. How the fuck does Nny handle it?!

‘BOUNCE BOUNCE!’

“They’re not fake… you dumb… burger doofus. Fuck off… fuck...” each word feels like tar building up in your throat. You have a worrisome thought that the hotdog was poisoned… or really, really toxic. Should it have been so pink and sweaty? You’d been so hungry at the time. Did it taste sour or rotten?

‘Nny. Look at her. She’s losing her marbles! SHE THINKS SOMEONE IS TALKING TO HER!!! She’s as crazy as you are. It’s a match made in HELL!! FUCK HER!!!!!!’

“Hmm… she looks like she ate that hotdog,” he muses, seemingly chewing on the words as his cheeks suck in further against his bony face, “I can’t remember if I bathed it in bath salts or not. No. NO. NO… but it was NOT supposed to be eaten. Mr. Samsa is running through stinky clouds and gumdrop trees right now if he absconded with it. TRIPPING BALLS!! Or just a bit less hungry. Hard to tell.”

“Why does everything feel so sticky?” You wonder aloud and lick your lips until the taste of gross hotdog hits your palate again.

To be fair, you were a little sticky before but now the greasy sweat is heavy and cloying and the tightness of your skin is lower; concentrated between your legs - legs that are forced together via the snug winding rope around your thighs. Good thing you’ve been starved and bereft of liquid or you’d be covered in more than disconcerting arousal.

“I’m so hungry, Johnny…”

“Mmhmm,” he sounds bored by you, ignoring your weak groan as he sits and inspects the edge of a serrated blade. It doesn’t pass inspection and gets tossed backward, sticking to the wall at least four inches deep. It seemed plenty sharp to you...

‘Deeeeeeeep…’

“Hey, Nny... did you put that hot dog down your pants?” It’s the worst pickup like you’ve ever heard, let alone come out of your mouth, but Nny cranes his neck around and glares at you with barely contained... desire? Probably malice actually. His grip on the knife between his spread thighs is so tight, his wrist is shaking.

“No,” he replies thinly.

Someone a floor below screams and screams and keeps screaming as Johnny stares at you, his eyes always drifting to your chest, but always turning away - always leaving a dark, guilty stain beneath his manic gaze. One of his wide eyes twitches as you writhe, purposefully making your tits bounce just like Meat Boy told you to. It’s a pretty hack seduction job but his eyes widen a fraction in response.

“I can see it…” you moan and struggle; spine arching, “... and it’s huuuuuge.” 

Suddenly, his eyes crease and narrow and his teeth shine with a hateful clench. 

“YOU LIE!” Nny screams, forcing his other victims downstairs - floors beneath you - to scream in turn; fearing more pain or death or something worse. Suspended against the wall, you pretend to struggle weakly, feeling your breasts jiggle beneath thin black cotton threads.

‘Don’t sell the girl short, them chesticles look like their dancing.’

“Chesticles?!” Nny arches one brow beneath messy black bangs. The sides of his head are shaved close; uneven buzzes that prove how haphazard he is and how that could translate to fucking should Meat Boy tear down Johnny’s walls. The guy looks like he let a four-year-old hit him with buzz cutters...

‘End your suffering, Johnny! CUT HER DOWN AND FUCK HER TO DEATH!! You’ve still got those frozen tater tots upstairs. Feed her and yourself. When was the last time you ate, Nny?’

“Thursday,” he says, sounding thoughtful; contemplative, “No. No, wait. Last Thursday. I had that corn dog from Taco Hell. Taco flavored corn dog special…”

‘Give her the DICK!’ Meat Boy screams until Nny’s scrambling to his feet, knees bowed outwards and spine hunched. Something like a sweat grows on his face as he listens to low, nasty whispers from the burger mascot. At his sides, his fingers twitch and the knife waggles; shooting off shivering light.

“I will literally eat your cum…” you say with spit in your lower lip. 

Johnny scuffs his boots on the floor, angling his hips away as if trying to hide his erection. It’s impossible to keep that anaconda out of sight. The tightness of his pants and the skinny hips, flat stomach and thin legs make it stick out like a massive tumor. 

“She’s talking nonsense now. Who would want to eat my-”

‘She wants it as bad as you do. Give into the carnality of flesh. Feel her wet skin around you. FILL HER LIKE A BAVARIAN CREAM DONUT!!’

“Fuck… please,” you beg, not so sure what it is your asking for at this point - food or sex seems about as vital for some strange venomous reason, “I can’t-can’t think straight…”

‘She’s breaking. If you crack her head open now, she’ll get cold before you can finish. AND YOU WILLLLL GIVE IN!!!! Better to let your desires take over now rather than later when she’s like an icebox on the inside.’

“She doesn’t really want me. She just wants me to let her go,” he points at you with the knife; so close to your delicate stomach it’s sickening, “She’s NOT going home. She-she-she’s-” 

‘... SO warm and juicy and wet! FUCK HER LIKE A DIRTY SLUT!!!!’

Nny’s arm wobbles as he throws looks from Meat Boy to the knife aimed at your stomach, twisting it towards you until light flashes against your gut. The beam is blinding for a second before the ropes around your thighs are sliced into meter long strips. You gasp, figuring for sure he was about to disembowel you like a pig at a fucking slaughterhouse. The cuts of rope fall to the floor in a lump as your legs swing free; weakly kicking on their own. Blood begins to circulate again and a well of fluids leak and stain the underwear clinging to your cunt. 

“Well, fuck me…” you gasp. A weak, needy moan weeps between your lips. Fuck, that’s embarrassing as hell…

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Johnny seethes and pokes the knife against your thigh. You wince, swaying against the ropes around your elbows, clutching the taut length that’s attaching you to the ceiling with aching fingers like you’ll be able to lift yourself up enough to take any pressure off your arms. You won’t - can’t. It’s a failing strategy… especially when Nny probes the knife against your crotch as if it’ll bite his hand off if he dares put a fucking finger there.

“It’s not full of teeth, ya know…” you smirk, still wincing at the pain in your joints. 

“STOP SMILING!!”

‘Doesn’t she smell good, JOHNNY!!?? INHALE THE PUSSY!’

That screeching, mind fuck from Meat Boy must snap Nny’s defense tactics. Whether it’s that or the actual smell of you as he gets closer, the moan you make when his knife jabs further down, or the way your breasts bounce under your black shirt at the jab of tempting sensation… whatever the cause, Johnny drives himself up close enough you can feel the bones in his hips jab your side before the knife starts cutting through your jeans. 

It’s uncoordinated… frantic, and he catches skin around the bend of your knee with the tip of the serrated knife, making you inhale a sharp breath. Blood pours and you curse, muttering a wincing ‘fuck’ when he hits dermal tissue again before tossing the knife to the floor. He’s sniffling, sounding like he’s close to tears but he’s not crying… just grabbing the remains of black denim and tears the threads until they rip at the seams. 

You hang there - forearms turning troubling colors of purple and red as the blood fills them with the creak of tightening rope. You grimace, look away from your arms and watch Nny tear one side of your underwear, yanking down the rest of the soaked fabric until you can smell yourself and… it’s not bad… it’s raw and primal and by the look on Nny’s face, it’s the ultimate bulldozer of pheromones.

For a second his knees shake and bend as if he nearly kneels before you - as if he considers eating you out despite how disgusted he sounded over the idea before. Instead, he grabs the tops of your thighs with long, leather gloves and pauses.

‘FUCK it.’

Meat Boy gives you a Cheshire cat grin as you pant softly, feeling clogged with blood and desire as your body hangs against the wall and Nny squeezes your flesh until it aches. For a moment you don’t think he’s going to go through with any of it, but he jabs a thumb - same as he had his knife - between your legs and sticks his tongue out between his teeth. 

“Well, DAMN!” He exclaims, “this isn’t so- DAMN! - you’re practically juicy!”

You sway above his probing touch and blush despite most of your blood either being stuck in your upper limbs or down between your thighs; circulating or trapped. 

Nny eyes your cunt as if it’s a tiny hole in his wall, filled with something cosmic and unknown before dropping his grip to hurriedly undo his triangular belt buckle and black pants. The button pops. His zipper comes down and you stare openly at what might be a pretty decent sized cock but looks practically massive jutting from his thin, bony hips. 

“Now that’s…” you half-slur, “... a fucking hot dog.”

“Huh? Hmmm…?!” Johnny glares at you like YOU’RE the insane one while he parts the seam of black denim and lets his dick hang there in a state of long… pale… pristine hardness. It looks like a new knife. Unused and sharp. 

You stare and drool a little and wiggle down in his thin, bony hands when he finally grabs and pulls your ass close. At this point you’re frothing and eager and batshit crazy no doubt but Nny is the one that’s silent and contemplative as he adjusts his hips...

‘HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!!’

Like a stiletto knife jettisoning through a soft stomach, Nny finds your opening with a single finger poke and stabs his cock inside you. The thrust and way he has to lift you over bruisingly sharp hips, means you’re stuffed full of awesome dick AND feel instant relief where before your arms had felt numb and bloated. It’s a mixture of pleasure, satisfied hunger, and relief. 

Johnny makes a thin sound but doesn’t move. He appears to be… muttering to himself…

“Can you… sorta,” you twitch above his grasp, spread your thighs and try to hook your ankles around his skinny ass but your legs feel like fucking flan, “... can you move?!”

Inside you, his cock twitches with a fast pulse. The sensation of it makes you pause and listen. 

Nny holds you still - seated over his jutted hips and protruding cock like a donut on someone’s fat thumb. Talk about Bavarian cream, you think… listening…

“What’s wrong with me??” He says to himself, head hanging down; eyes glazed on where you're both connected, “I’m always holding myself back. Always resisting. People use people every day and I think I’m above it all?! I should be enjoying myself. Not abstaining like some FUCKING HEAVEN-TOTING THEOLOGICALLY OBSESSED SHITHEAD!!!”

‘YESS!!!’

Johnny cranes his head back - neck popping - and smiles with what seems like a thousand jagged, porcelain teeth before digging his fingers into your ass so hard they feel like knives. 

“Yeah! OH!!! How I’ve been needing this!” He screeches, rears back, laughs thin and manic, and throws the full length of his dick back into you with a ‘whoosh’ and grunt. 

Your eyes bulge and a weak, shudder rolls up your belly. Okay… he’s got some girth that was no trick of the light and that was… deep. He does it again - the same, quick, bottomless thrust and grunts. Deep-seeded pleasure jabs below your navel. Your spine stiffens and around the rope, your fingers clench. 

Nny is nothing but dirty, black hair floating in front of his wide, watching eyes and grins a grin that stretches his face into unnatural lengths. Inside your shirt, your tits bounce roughly as Johnny fucks upwards, impaling you until it’s all you can feel - the only thing you care about.

“HEHEHE!!! Whoohoo!!” He shouts and screams and fucks, watching your breasts beneath the dark cotton until that’s not enough. Nny lets your cunt fall over his lap - cock nestling so deep it makes your throat tickle - and grabs the collar of your shirt, tearing it down the middle with brute force. 

His eyes nearly pop outta his skull. 

Your bare tits jiggle free against your expanding ribcage. There’s nothing else beneath so each time he digs his hip bones into you - cock pressing deep - the naked, freed flesh bounces hard. So… maybe he’d been justified in staring at them by the bus stop several days ago… you weren’t exactly wearing a bra after all.

Johnny surprises you by shoving his gaunt face between your sweaty breasts. His unwashed hair fuses to the perspiration leaking from your pores. The sharp side skull stubble framing his lanky high cut scrubs your skin pink but the sensations are… good, better than good. 

“Just a minute. JUST. A. LITTLE-“ though muffled between bouncing flesh, his voice is no less unhinged. 

You hang and moan and roll your head back as Johnny fucks you with his face smashed between bouncing tits. The torn halves of your shirt flutter around your sides. Sweat pours down your skin. Your arms throb and sweet tension starts building where he works his cock through the wet, sticky fluids seeping from your body. 

The way he fucks you is nearly akin to someone realizing they can fly… or maybe for someone like Nny, that he has head explodey powers. It’s almost childishly gleeful but violent and definitely unorthodox. 

“... little more,” you gasp; head lolling back as your hands pound around the rope. The pain in your elbows means they could dislocate at any moment, but that’s a background thought when Johnny starts enthusiastically motorboating your heaving chest. Comical. Hilarious… and sexy as hell. 

“Oh. My. God!! Imagine the-the POSSIBILITIES???!!”

You’d laugh if you weren’t in the process of clenching down around fast pistoning cock and contracting in pleasure. Nny’s pace has gone from smooth smashing to fucking lubed up jackhammer speed and it’s too much. You cum with a white-eyed glaze and one long line of drool leaking down the side of your chin. 

Limp pleasure attacks your muscles and as Johnny fucks you like it’s some superpower he’s discovered, you suck in heavy breaths and sob as the crashing bliss surrounds your aching body. You dangle and rock and body-jostle in his hands; secured by the tight ropes. 

When he finally cums it’s… quiet; melancholy. His moods shifts so suddenly that you’re not surprised by the sniffling and wetness that pools against your sternum. 

“... are you-“ you stop, realizing how much more insane it is to ask Johnny - your kidnapper and potential murderer - if he’s okay after cumming inside you like this. Didn’t even think about pulling out… but it’s not like it really matters, you’ll probably die down here anyway. 

‘Well, Nny?! How do you FEEEL NOW????!!! How does it feel???’

“I hate it,” he mutters darkly between your tits, peeling his fingers out of your ass to hug you around the middle; still warming his dick inside you, “I’m tired. I HATE feeling tired. I HATE feeling anything. Now I’ll have to sleep. I’ll have to wake up - snap out of the dream and into reality…”

You blink and watch a cockroach skitter across a wall behind him, almost wishing you could give the miserable fucker a hug but you’re not sure what you’d do if your arms were free. Nny hugs you harder and stuffs his bony nose and browline deeper against where your heart thuds in post-orgasmic rhythm. 

For the first time since the blood pooled to the top of your brain, the burger mascot looks… inanimate - a plastic, unmoving object. 

“Hey,” you test, feeling Johnny stiffen around you even though he’s starting to soften within, “... if you let me down. I’ll help keep you awake. We can… paint? I bet you painted all these things on the walls, huh?”

“I did,” he responds cautiously; still buried between your tits and in your cunt. 

“Undo these ropes and I can be your assistant, yeah? I’ll mix your paints and stuff… you can uh… you can fuck me again if you want to. That was pretty awesome.”

Not in a million fucking years would you have thought that would work - that Nny would unpeel himself from your sweaty, gross body, untie you until you’re slumped on the floor trying to wiggle blood back into your extremities. 

Johnny cleans himself off like your combined fluids are as reproachful as blood… with zero fanfare. He waits. He taps his boots and glares at The Kafka bug, the doughboys and burger buddy… sometimes glaring at you but it’s not so nasty as you’d have expected. 

Suddenly, instead of dying, you find yourself walking around in a baggy ‘motherfucking corn!’ shirt and some dead girl’s sneakers. Not ideal, but you’re not dead and Nny turned out to be an enthusiastic painter and decent fuck so… you’ll think about escaping tomorrow, or the next day. 

There’s no rush. Not really.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have the time, please leave me a comment letting me know what worked for you or what didn't.
> 
> Thank you to FleshDust for betaing! <3
> 
>  
> 
> [DISCORD](https://discord.gg/BS4uvMK)   
>  [CURIOUS Cat (for asks)](https://curiouscat.me/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
>  [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/LydiaBrim)   
>  [INSTAGRAM](https://www.instagram.com/brim_brim_brim_brim/)


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